Fiction Fragment: The Right Time

She used to be the fastest reader as a child. Pages would collapse into the mind. Every book gulped. Sometimes not even chewed enough. In the tradition of multi-tasking, she would listen to music. Each day, discovering a new band. Thriving on trivia. Words began to cover the tendons, and the notes would wind themselves on her bones, like creepers.

As she grows older, she worries if she’s read all the good books and heard the best music. So she takes to re-reading books. Or reading them very slow. Making each book last a lot longer. This strange fear that the real world is a pale version of the imagined. If ideas were more real than things, and all ideas were known, then what was left to explore? A small part of her head tells her that she may not have even enjoyed reading all that she read. She read because the books existed. Because she’s a nag, she only reads the best.

She knows that there are perhaps some Latin American and obscure East European authors left to read. But this knowledge, that all has been discovered, while sobering, brings with it a certain angst that is fulfilling in its wholesomeness. She now has the perfect excuse.

When he comes home that night, she announces, “Dear Husband, we will now have a baby. I have read all the books in the world, so it’s the right time.”.

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9 Comments

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9 Responses to Fiction Fragment: The Right Time

  1. What, are you in the business of saying what others want to, better?

  2. dipali

    What a lovely reason!

  3. Wasn’t it Austen who said so much of life reminded her of what she’d read in books when shouldn’t it be the other way around?

  4. Silky

    ahem..the protagonist reminds me of someone..;)

  5. km

    I got only one word for this post: “Ah”.

  6. Nice one this :)

    And I notice you’ve been logging multiple posts everyday for the past several days… Talk about prolific!!! Keep it going :)

  7. Nilu: You say it like that’s a bad thing to do. :)

    dipali: I just hope the husband agrees.

    Revealed: I wonder if reading too much corrupts us. Makes us immune from what the “real world” has to offer.

    Silky: Ahem yourself lady! I am not going to forget all the times you sneaked books into the class and read them while Hemalatha scrubbed chalk on the board.

    km: Ah!

    perspective inc: Thankings.

    Atticus: Well, it might end soon. For instance, I don’t feel particularly writerly today at all. :)

  8. Yeah, definitely! When you feel sadder for the predicament of Patrick (in Mother’s Milk) than you do for the predicament of real people dying in the streets of hunger, I think there’s some disconnect going on somewhere!